The End
by clamjam
Summary: Harry and Draco are assigned to spy on each other, but things go rather differently than they had planned in this situation. HD slash, angsty to the max.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

**Author notes: First of all, I'd like to thank my counts FOUR betas, Kat (who shall hopefully be making an account soon, damn her), Liz (lizren), Maddy (magnumzero), Courtney (deppinthought). Lauren (hat-and-clogs) gets an honorable mention. Hmm…it seems like I'm getting progressively angstier on here. I started out with total fluff, then moved to a weird angst one-shot, and now this, which goes beyond the realm of angst and graduates into The Kind of Angst Where LOTS of People Die. UM so if you review I'll love you forever and for always. Oh, and seriously, it does sort of have a plot eventually.**

When the Order of the Phoenix assigned Harry to spy on Draco Malfoy, an active Death Eater, Harry was conflicted.

He was thinking back to the last time he had seen Malfoy, robes whipping out of site around the Hogwarts gates. Minutes before, Harry had stood, invisible, on the Astronomy tower with Dumbledore and Malfoy, watching him struggle with himself, watching his wand lower a fraction of and inch away from Dumbledore. Harry hadn't known what to think then. As much as he could never forgive Malfoy for deciding to serve Voldemort, he had seen the pain and the fear on his face. And he had pitied him then. But just for a moment, albeit a moment which stood out vividly in Harry's memory.

He remembered Malfoy crying in the bathroom, remembered his choked sob of "No one can help me," remembered the _Sectumsempra _curse which had left long X-shaped gashes across Malfoy's chest, remembered his own shock and horror and fear.

In a reasonably sized portion of Harry's brain, he had sympathy for Malfoy. In another slightly larger portion, he instinctively hated Malfoy because of who he was working for in this never-ending war.

Even so, Harry was conflicted.

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When Draco received orders to tail Harry Potter and report his findings to the Dark Lord, Draco was conflicted.

He thought about everything Potter had been through. He thought about how Potter's parents had been murdered by Draco's own master. He remembered the deaths of Cedric Diggory, Sirius Black and Dumbledore during their time at school. He pictured the permanently weary expression etched on Potter's prematurely lined face the last time he had seen him, five years ago in the sixth and what turned out to be final year at Hogwarts. Draco had felt a drop of sympathy for Potter, imagining the daily trials he endured.

But Draco had had his fare share of hardships at Potter's hands too. He ran his hands over his chest and felt the long, ropy scar marring the skin. He thought with hatred about how Potter had given it to him. Then he heard Potter's frantic "No," as he saw what his curse had done, remembered Potter kneeling at his side, scared, horrified.

But then, most painfully of all, Draco thought of his parents' deaths at the hands of the Order of the Phoenix the year before—his father had died in Azkaban (indirectly Potter's fault), and his mother in their own manor while Draco was away. He didn't know if this had been exclusively Potter's doing, but somehow he felt like he needed to blame Potter.

Even so, Draco was conflicted.

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And so they set out for each other, apprehensive and confused and thoughtful. They had no idea where their missions would lead. They were afraid to know.

**Author notes: Uhh...Chapter one is better than this. Please read it before you cruelly judge me.**  



	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

**Author notes: There's something vaguely like a plot, I promise. Give it time. Oh man, this is so angsty. And soooo interesting to write. Enjoy  review! Thanks, and thanks to my one million betas, named in the prologue. You guys rule, especially where you actually gave me suggestions. Multiple hearts.**

They found each other for the first time in the Hog's Head, the only business still open in recently ransacked Hogsmeade. The strange barman served them each a lukewarm firewhiskey in a broken glass. They drained them without comment and without looking up. They got refills. They drained those, too.

Harry was watching Draco surreptitiously, nervously. Draco was doing the same.

There was a pause in which they wordlessly communicated that they didn't know quite what to make of each other.

"Long time no see," said Harry emotionlessly after a while.

Draco laughed hollowly. "I suppose we've been keeping busy, though."

"Yeah," said Harry, very quietly.

Draco was staring very hard at him.

"I didn't kill your parents," said Harry abruptly, turning around to face him with a strange look in his eyes; it was a mixture of anger and pity.

Draco gave another empty laugh, looking away. "Been practicing your Legilimency, eh, Potter?"

"No, but I know that sort of look. Accusatory. And I want you to know that just because I work for them doesn't mean I did it. Yeah, it was the Order, and I'm not telling you who. I know you… you're…" He trailed off.

"Who I'm reporting to? Is that it, Potter?" Draco's eyes burned as he turned back to face Harry.

Harry said nothing for a moment, and then, sounding almost painfully sincere, he murmured, "I'm sorry."

Draco's eyes burned suddenly with tears instead of anger. Hating himself, he looked away and downed his third firewhiskey.

"No need to apologize, Potter," he said coolly. "I probably owe you a few as well." He laughed in that same hollow way, as though he hadn't seen the sun for years.

It grew quiet again. Both were lost in their drinks and their thoughts, completely forgetting the information they were supposed to be collecting. Two shots later, Harry was resting his chin on his woven fingers, the way he remembered Dumbledore used to do, thinking about nothing in particular. Draco was watching Harry again. Harry looked up, feeling Draco's spiteful eyes upon him.

"Don't…don't you have anything to say?" asked Draco quietly.

Harry said nothing.

Draco stood up, breathing hard, all thoughts of spying forgotten. "I'll be seeing you," he said coldly. He paid for his drink and walked out into the grimy main street of ruined Hogsmeade.

Harry was silent as the door banged closed.

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They saw each other more over the next few days, never talking much. Neither considered these "coincidental" meetings odd, as both thought they were seeking out and following the other. They brushed shoulders on a crowded London street. They watched each other send letters by Muggle post from opposite sides of a street. They followed a block behind, always a block behind, and wrote the destination of their quarry on the back of receipts or train tickets. But a week later, both having reported to their fellows only once, they found themselves unintentionally together again in the Hogshead. They were staring at each other, a deadened look in both pairs of eyes, not thinking or talking or drinking, or hardly even breathing.

"Walk with me," said Harry after the tension became almost unbearable. Draco did not protest, but stood almost immediately and held the door for Harry as the left. As the chill breeze hit them, both vaguely remembered they were supposed to be collecting information on the other. The atmosphere became tense and wary as they left.

Harry looked up the main street and saw the mountain where Sirius's cave had been in their fourth year.

"This way," he murmured, gesturing.

Somehow, as they walked, the smaller, pitying portions of their brains began to grow. It was easier to see the other's pain and suffering, to see how weary they were of it all, in such close proximity.

They passed through the stile at the end of the main street and started to ascend the mountain in silence, collars of the cloaks turned up against the wind.

They reached the cave and settled down against opposite walls.

"Why are you here?" asked Harry bluntly.

"Sent to tail you," said Draco tonelessly.

"Mmm…me too…."

They looked at each other.

"You want to know why, don't you. Why I work for him."

Harry nodded, unsurprised. "You've been practicing your Legilimency, too."

"No," shrugged Draco. "I could just tell. Your face…" he trailed off.

There was a pregnant pause. "Well?" demanded Harry finally.

"My father," said Draco at once. "Upholding family honor. Tradition, history." He paused, looking around at the cave with a pained expression. "But some job I did of it. Couldn't carry out my first mission, even, or at least the last part of it." Harry's insides burned with anger as he thought of how Malfoy had been commissioned to kill Dumbledore, and then simmered down as he remembered Malfoy's inability to do it. Draco was speaking again. "I couldn't do anything. And couldn't…couldn't save them…" Draco's voice broke. He looked away, blinking, but he couldn't stop the tears.

Harry watched silently as Draco cried hopelessly, pity swelling in his chest again. He reached out and touched Draco's arm hesitantly. "Shhh…it's OK…shhh…"

"Don't," said Draco coldly, pulling away. He collected himself, breathing deeply.

"How did this happen?" he asked thoughtfully, more to himself than to Harry. "I mean, here we are, sent to collect information on each other so our sides can _kill _each other, eventually. And now we're just sitting here in this cave, together, acting as though we're on the same fucking side. Ha!" He laughed harshly, staring at nothing in particular.

"You don't have to serve him. You could fight against him…with me…" Harry faltered. He looked apprehensively at Draco.

"Don't," said Draco again, but in a whisper this time. Harry knew he meant _Don't let me need you_.

There was a tense silence.

"We can't do this," said Draco hoarsely.

"Do what?" asked Harry, though he thought he knew.

"_This_. Pity each other, feel…feel for each other. _Need_ each other. _Don't_," he added for the third time as Harry reached him again.

Harry ignored him. He didn't quite understand what he was feeling or doing as he grasped Draco's hand in his. Draco did not resist. As Harry touched him, they both felt a foreign mix of emotions—fear, pity, hatred, determination, self-loathing, even love.

"Why not?" Harry asked quietly.

"Ever since sixth year it's been like this!" said Draco, somehow desperately. "Pitying each other, _needing _each other."

"So?"

"We can't!" said Draco wildly.

"We _do _need each other," said Harry, almost angrily, "To help each other."

"And you're all I have now," said Draco suddenly, in a tiny whisper.

"So are you." Harry gripped Draco's hand fiercely. He had forgotten where he was, what he was doing, what he was saying. He reached up and stroked Draco's cheek gently. Draco laid his hand on Harry's, as though checking to see if the touch was real.

"You'll…we'll take care of each other?" he asked.

Harry nodded. Draco looked at him, and there was so much pain in his gaze.

"Yeah," said Harry quietly.

"OK," said Draco.

**Author notes: Reviews will make my life. And tell me if you think there should be a rating called NC-one million. Because wouldn't that be cool? Anyway, the author notes will usually make more sense than this, just so you know.  
**


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**Author notes: This chapter is short but (hopefully) sweet. It certainly was to write it...sort of. And it's about the last time Harry and Draco are really, really happy for the rest of the fic. And they're not even happy for the whole time in this chapter. Man, this thing just goes downhill. Why do I write such sad stuff? (Be warned, all the rest of the author notes are going to sound like that.) Oh dear. Well, enjoy.**

They stayed like that for a long time, not talking. Harry's hand lay beneath Draco's, still stroking his cheek.

"But I can't go back," Draco said suddenly. "He'll know. He'll know about this, about us…together."

"Then don't go back."

"OK."

It didn't matter, Draco thought. He had Harry and Harry had him and this is all he had ever wanted and ever would want.

"Draco," said Harry quietly.

Draco looked up. Harry kissed him.

It was the nicest kiss imaginable, thought Draco wonderingly. He opened his mouth more, wanting this sweet relief from his sadness. But Harry pulled away.

"No…I'm sorry. I went too far. You don't want…I shouldn't have…you don't want it like that."

"Yes, I do," said Draco, and pulled Harry back to him.

Harry's mouth opened instantly beneath Draco's. Draco's tongue flicked into Harry's mouth, searching, exploring, wanting to know all of him. Harry sucked gently at Draco's lower lip and Draco moaned softly. Harry kissed his neck, and Draco rolled his head pleadingly to the side, pulling Harry closer.

Both wanted it so much. It was like painkiller, anesthesia, total relief from the weight of the world on their shoulders.

Harry bit gently, experimentally, at Draco's neck. Draco moaned his approval, stroking Harry's back. Draco's lips ran over Harry's ear and Harry sighed in a low rush of air that warmed Draco's skin. And then Draco's hands were beneath Harry's robes, beneath his T-shirt, touching every inch of skin, searching, feeling. Harry arched his back into Draco's touch. Both moaned, feeling themselves go hard. Draco pushed Harry's robes off his shoulders, letting them pool around Harry's waist where he knelt. Harry took Draco's robes off, too, then his T-shirt. He lay gently against Draco until he was on top of him, kissing every inch of bare skin. Draco pushed against Harry, grinding their erections together. Harry gasped, moaning. They clutched each other, needing this so much.

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Much later, they lay together, blanketed by Harry's robes. A fire crackled in a corner, lighting the cave with a gentle glow. Harry was holding Draco, who was crying again.

"It's just," stammered Draco as Harry stroked his hair, cradling him, "if they could see…how I escape their deaths…fucking a bloke…bloody crazy. Going bloody mad. And one of your lot, too…other side…bloody crazy…"

"Shhh…it's OK, I've got you," murmured Harry, kissing Draco gently on the forehead.

"But that's just it! You! I can't be here," he muttered wildly, though he made no move to disentangle himself from Harry's embrace.

"It's OK…we'll take care of each other, remember?" said Harry soothingly, though almost sadly.

Draco buried his face in Harry's chest.

"Don't let me go, Harry, " he whispered. "Don't let me go…"

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Still later, they remained lying together, not talking much. Harry had just rolled over, kissing Draco's ear, when Draco cried out and clutched his right forearm.

Harry sat up. "The mark?"

Draco's frantic whimpering was all the answer he needed. "No," Draco moaned. "No, Harry. I can't go back. I said I wouldn't but now, now I have to and he'll know, he'll find out about this!" He gestured wildly to Harry.

Harry shook his head, pulling Draco up alongside him. "Be strong," he said, looking Draco in the eye. "You're a good Occlumens. You can do it. Block him out. Think of something else. Think of what you're telling him while you tell it."

Draco looked terrified. "What _do_ I tell him?"

"Anything. Nothing. Tell him I'm recruiting in…I dunno, Canada. Japan. Far away. Tell him I'm working on developing a counter-curse for the Cruciatus. Tell him—"

"OK, OK!" Draco's face was suddenly blank, resigned. "I have to go. I'll be…back. Later. Here."

"Yeah." Harry looked apprehensive. "Draco—"

"Goodbye." Draco kissed him, and Dissapparated before they had even broken apart.

**Author notes: Umm, this one was short. But I don't think any explanation is necessary for why that is. It stands alone. Teehee. Sort of. In addition, I suppose I'm just updating whenever I feel like it. Which appears to be every...counting... five days. Well, there you go, then.  
**


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**Author notes: Draco has such a sad life! Why do I give people such sad lives? WHY IS THIS SO SAD HOLY SHIT. …Seriously, you tell me. And this only the beginning of the angst overload.**

Draco did not come back for two days. Harry spent day one pacing the cave, waiting fearfully, leaving it only briefly to bring back food from the surrounding mountain forest to eat and save. The second day he popped back into Headquarters very briefly to report a wild, made-up story about Draco's whereabouts and activities to Lupin.

Lupin's face was older than ever now, scarred and lined. His thinning hair was steely gray. His eyes were almost perpetually deadened and far away. Ever since Tonks had died two years ago he had not been the same.

He now gave Harry a worried, questioning look. "Everything alright?"

"Yes!" Harry gasped, shaken from his worried thoughts of Draco. "Yes, Remus. Fine…just waiting for…on the verge, big stuff…important discoveries…" He was incoherent and knew it. "Gotta go. Be seeing you." He Dissapparated as Lupin stared blankly.

When he got back, Draco was huddled in a corner.

"No!" cried Harry. "No, no, oh, Draco, here I am, I just—but I'm here, I'm here. Draco, oh, I knew I would—what are you doing?" For Harry had just noticed that Draco's wand was out and he was muttering under his breath, pointing his wand at the ripped sleeve of his robes. And even now, as Harry moved closer, he saw new rips appear on Draco's sleeve where he pointed his wand, and blood blossoming on the skin beneath—

"Holy—no! Draco, no!" Harry flew to Draco's side, murmuring frantic _no-no-no_'s as he gently pried Draco's wand from his slack fingers and pulled back his torn sleeve. He let his breath out slowly. "Oh, Draco…"

All up Draco's left arm were deep, bloody cuts, cut in the shape of Xs all over Draco's perfect white skin. Harry's eyes burned with tears as he took Draco in his arms and began healing his cutes, one by one, with his own wand. Draco said nothing, not moving to resist or indeed do anything.

"Draco…Draco…" Harry murmured again and again, running his free hand through Draco's hair. "Oh, why, Draco, why?"

Now Draco was crying too. "I…I…" He couldn't speak. He pressed his face into Harry's shoulder.

"Did he torture you?" asked Harry quietly.

Draco should his head. "No…no…I did it!" Suddenly there was grim pride in his voice as he lifted his face and looked into Harry's shining eyes with his own streaming ones. "He didn't know. Not about you and me, or how what I was telling him wasn't true…I blocked him."

"How?"

"Concentrated on…something else."

Harry knew this to mean "_my parents._"

"But then…" Harry stroked Draco's slightly pink left arm helplessly.

"Them," said Draco quietly, and although his tears were gone, there was infinite hate and pain in his voice. "The other Death Eaters. They took me away when I was done reporting. T-tortured me. Taunted me. Said…Told me my mother and f-father were…were…" He couldn't do it. He began to cry again.

Harry pulled Draco close and held him tightly, cradling him like a child. "It's OK. You don't have to tell me," he murmured soothingly into Draco's hair.

"Said horrible things," sobbed Draco. "Tortured me. Cruciatus…horrible things…and when I finally got back and you weren't here, I couldn't deal with it…too much…"

Harry, stroking Draco's recently healed arm gently, suddenly realized there were older scars there, too.

"Oh, Draco…these weren't the first?"

Draco shook his head, sobbing dryly.

"Don't cry. Draco, please, no. I'm here. I've got you. You're safe, I won't…won't let them hurt you anymore."

Draco let out a wail and buried his head in Harry's chest.

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It was a long while before Harry felt able to let go of Draco.

"Um…are you hungry?"

Draco nodded, then shook his head, and then nodded more fervently. He was shivering. Harry draped both of their cloaks around him and lit a fire. Draco huddled beside it as Harry prepared a rabbit over the fire. When Harry gave him a piece, he took a large bite and chewed slowly, eyes wide and staring.

Harry sat down beside Draco, one arm around his shoulders. With the other arm, he ate small bites of rabbit, though not remotely hungry.

Harry looked at Draco, seeing the rings under his eyes, the dried tears and sweat and blood on his cheeks, his pale complexion, his blankly staring eyes. And he knew that Draco had not overcome Lord Voldemort's Legilimency with his own Occlumecy. He knew that Voldemort had set the Death Eaters on Draco as a preliminary punishment for his disobedience and treachery, knew that Voldemort knew where they were and what was happening.

"We have to get you out of here," Harry said quietly to Draco.

"OK."

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They went to Ron's house.

"H—Harry?" asked Ron in disbelief as he answered Harry's knock. "And—Malfoy? Draco Malfoy?" He shot Harry a look of alarm and stepped back slightly. However, Draco was not looking at Ron. He was surveying the street with mild interest, his eyes misted and red and out of focus. Harry had his arm around the other boy, half-supporting him.

"Ron, I…er, can we come in?"

It showed how much Harry and Ron trusted each other and cared for each other that Ron stepped aside wordlessly.

"So, then," said Ron awkwardly as he sat down in the kitchen of his small home, bestowing glasses of water to the pair of them, "er, what's up, Harry?"

And Harry told him, told him everything. He told him about their respective assignments, their original wariness of each other, their eventual bond and realization that they could help each other. He couldn't stop talking. He told Ron about how their partnership had blossomed abruptly into love, and how Draco had been summoned back to Voldemort and what had transpired there. Harry told him about Draco's parents and Draco's pain, about their discussions in the Hog's Head and the mountain cave, about how they were doing this because they were so tired, so tired, and being together made it all go away.

Ron did not speak for a long while afterwards. He was watching Draco, who was now sleeping restlessly against Harry's shoulder. Harry was holding his hand under the table.

"You know, I reckon he's sad because of you, too, Harry. No, listen," he added when Harry looked up sharply. "You gave your heart and soul to him so unconditionally, and he feels like he has nothing to give back, and he loathes that about himself."

Once Harry might have thought it odd to hear Ron speak this way, but Ron was a changed man by the war. The Death Eaters had murdered Hermione when they were just 18, and Ginny the year after. His parents were gone, and Percy and Fred and Bill and Fleur had been killed over the past five years as well. It was just him, George and Charlie now; he had lost nearly his whole family and his only love to the war. Harry rarely saw George and Charlie, but expected they were feeling rather the same as Ron—broken, defeated, lost. Sometimes Harry couldn't believe that Ron's mental health had suffered no worse than depression and the complete loss of his youthful spirit. _Although_, thought Harry sadly, looking at Ron's tired face, _that's certainly bad enough_.

"So I suppose you want to stay here, then?" asked Ron, shaking Harry from his thoughts.

"No! Of course not. Dangerous for you. Wouldn't be…fair…"

"You're always welcome, mate."

"No, no, I would never. I just…I wanted your advice. Where we should go."

This was a lie, of course. Harry had set off for Ron's fully intending to stay with him until a better option became available, but had realized up on arrival that Voldemort was certainly searching for them, and that staying with Ron was putting him at terrible risk.

"It's OK, Harry," said Ron quietly.

Harry looked up, and realized at the look in Ron's eyes that Ron didn't care, because he had nothing left to live for.

"Ron…"

"No. The sofa folds out. Stay as long as you need. It'll be nice to have some company again, anyway."

"I—Ron, I…Alright," said Harry grudgingly. Ron smiled grimly, but his eyes were almost grateful. He stood. Draco coughed and opened his eyes.

"What's—" he murmured sleepily.

"Nothing, don't worry. Ron's going to let us stay here for a while."

"Oh. OK." He looked at Ron and smiled wearily.

"Thanks," said Draco.

"Of course," said Ron.

And in a bittersweet way, it made Harry the happiest he had been in years to see the mute understanding and trust which now passed between his best friend and his love, who had hated each other for so long and who were still filled with so much hatred for everything. And Draco had lost everything, and Ron had lost everything, and now Draco had Harry and Ron had nothing. And Ron did not hate Draco for that, and it made Harry so proud and so sad at the same time.

_But in times of crisis, _Harry thought bleakly, _you ally with those you might otherwise avoid_.

He looked at Draco, and Draco looked at him, and Ron had his face in his hands.

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That night, Harry and Draco lay together on Ron's sofa bed. Harry wasn't sleeping. And neither, it seemed, was Ron, for he came in around midnight and sat in an armchair near the window.

"Ron? You OK?" asked Harry quietly, getting up and perching on the windowsill beside him.

"Yeah...just making sure you lot are alright."

"Oh." There was a pause as they watched Draco roll over and feel around where Harry had lain, muttering. Harry went back and sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Draco's hair. Ron came to sit beside him, following Harry's hand with a distant expression.

"How is he?"

"Dunno...I mean, a day and a half of being tortured isn't—well, I'm sure he's a little worse off than he was when he left me. But...I think it would be pretty tough to get worse than he was to begin with..."

"I don't know about that." Ron, who didn't seem to know what he was saying, was still watching Harry pet Draco's hair gently with a distant expression.

"You miss her, don't you?" asked Harry quietly.

Ron nodded, still watching Harry's hand, then nodded. "It's just...seeing you two...together..." He sighed and shook his head. "Brings it all back, I guess. Honestly, though, it's only been three bloody years...but..."

"No, no, that's plenty of time to...well, I'm sorry, mate. I miss her, too."

"But...I..."

_Loved her, _finished Harry silently. "Yeah."

They watched Draco silently for a while, until Draco's hand came up to grasp Harry's wrist and pull him closer. Harry looked at Ron.

"I should get some sleep."

"Yeah," murmured Ron, running his hand over his shining eyes and standing. "He needs you more than I do right now."

"Ron, I—"

"Don't worry about me."

Harry paused, more worried than ever at these words. "Well...goodnight, mate."

"Goodnight, Harry. Sleep well."

Ron walked out of the room and climbed the stairs to his empty bed as Harry lay down beside Draco and curled around him, protecting him from all the terrible things waiting out there.

**Author notes: You know, good things just don't seem to happen to nice people. God dammit.**


	5. Chapter 4

**hapter Four**

**Author notes: This is another sort of short chapter (aren't they all?) but this was about as much as I could handle writing in one part. Why would I do this to myself? Oh man. Why do I kill everybody? What's wrong with me? Please don't answer that, Maddy, this is all your fault anyway. Just read it, dammit.**

Harry did not sleep that night. When the dawn shone through the window on whose sill he had sat last night, he moved closer to Draco. His fingers moved over Draco's bare torso, tracing small circles on the skin, smoothing the fine platinum hair on his arms and chest and stomach. He whispered Draco's name into his neck over and over. And he would have been content like this forever, but Draco woke up.

He stared at Harry, transfixed, touching his own skin lightly where Harry's hands had been. Then he threw his arms around Harry's neck, kissing him hard. He whispered into Harry's mouth, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please let me stay, please, I'm sorry."

Harry knew that Draco must have returned some to reality in the night, and with that return had come the realization of why the Death Eaters had tortured him and why Harry had brought him here, away from the cave that had been their home for an eternal few days, away from the magical place where they had first kissed each other, first touched each other, first lain panting on the stone.

"Don't worry. No, please don't apologize. Stop, Draco, don't worry. It'll be OK, I promise. We'll keep moving. We'll sort it out. Draco, it wasn't your fault…"

But Draco was crying now. "I heard you talking last night. Harry, I had no idea about Hermione, but it was them, they did it, and if I'd known it wouldn't—and Ron—"

"You're not making any sense, Draco, you couldn't have stopped it. You're not like them, Draco, you're not a killer—"

He and Draco froze, suddenly, horribly hearing Dumbledore speak those words—_Come over to the right side, Draco…you are not a killer…_ up on the tower that horrible night five years ago. Draco watched Harry apprehensively, breathing fast.

Harry said nothing. Because he was suddenly back on that tower, helpless, invisible in the corner, watching Dumbledore sink lower on the stones, watching Draco's wand arm quivering, watching him lower it a fraction of an inch. Hearing Snape's footsteps on the stairs, hearing Dumbledore's last whispers, his last pleas for help. Hearing Snape let the curse fly from his lips like an arrow, seeing Dumbledore fall. Knowing that his freedom to move again meant that the caster of the binding spell was dead, knowing that Dumbledore was dead and gone and never coming back. And now he was back in the present, and Draco was here before him, and it was Draco's fault, all Draco's fault—

"Oh, Harry…I…oh, god, oh, Harry, I…" Draco stammered, but he had nothing to say. Harry's eyes went hard and cold and he stood, letting Draco fall from his arms back onto the bed. Draco whimpered quietly. Harry was breathing hard. He took his wand from the bedside table without thinking and whirled around to face Draco.

"You—you—" And there was nothing of the loving and compassionate and sweet, caring, fearful Harry that Draco knew and loved.

"Harry, I—please, Harry, oh god, I never meant—I never—he said he'd kill them and now—and now it doesn't even m-matter, because they're d-dead anyway, Harry, they're dead and he sh-shouldn't have died and it's my fault and I'm so, so s-sorry, Harry, I h-hate m-myself for what I d-did that night, and I l-love you and all I need is for you to love me back, Harry, that's all I, you're all I need, and you made me s-see that I could be good, I c-could be strong and brave and I could fight!" And Draco's terror at the cold fury in Harry's eyes—it was beyond fury, it was rage, it was loathing, it was terrible, terrifying, total hatred—was beginning to wane, and his voice was growing stronger. "And without you I couldn't have gone on after they were dead, Harry, I couldn't have lived, but you gave me a reason to keep on living, and I need you here with me, and maybe someday you can forgive me, even if I can't forgive me, and…and…" but Draco had no more words. His voice was hoarse and he was breathing quickly, staring desperately at Harry.

And now it was Harry whose wand arm was shaking, Harry who was dropping it to his side, Harry who was collapsing beside Draco, sobbing into his leg. Draco shook his head, murmuring into Harry's neck, "Harry…Harry, Harry, don't, please don't cry, Harry, I never meant to hurt you, I love you, I love you, I love you…" He whispered this over and over again, bent double over Harry's shaking body, stroking his hair and back, whispering through the lump in his own throat until Harry quieted.

"I love you, too," whispered Harry.

"Yeah," said Draco.

And they understood each other, and they understood that they could work through it and that in the end they could forgive, although perhaps not forget, and that they loved each other more than life itself.

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They might have stayed together like that for all eternity, but sadly, it was not meant to be.

Draco sat curled around Harry, stroking his hair and whispering sweet nothings to him with his lips pressed against the listening ear. Both were emotionally, mentally and physically drained, and they were just beginning to fall asleep like that when there was a dull thud from upstairs.

Harry sat bolt upright, stiff and alert, all thoughts of the last hour gone from his mind.

Draco looked around at the other boy in alarm. "Harry, is—"

But Harry was already sprinting up the stairs three at a time. He flung himself around the corner at the top—

And saw Ron, pale and bloody, lying on his bedroom floor.

Harry's heart dropped out of his chest.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god, Ron, Ron, no no no no no Ron, no, wake up, Ron, _wake up, Ron, no, oh god wake up, please god no, no, no—_"

Harry was breathing hard, kneeling by Ron's side, touching his grey face, speaking desperately to him.

"H…Ha…Harry?" Ron's voice was so faint, so far away, and Harry couldn't get to it.

"Ron…oh, Ron…I…what have you done?" whispered Harry, tears streaming down his face as he pulled his best friend's nearly lifeless body into his lap.

"Harry…I…I'm going to see Hermione, Harry. I…it was time to…to go and see her."

"Ron…" Harry shook his head, robes soaked with his own tears and Ron's blood, seeping very slowly from his wrists onto Harry. He was only vaguely aware of Draco standing horrified in the doorway behind him.

"I'll…I…oh, Harry…I'm sorry, Ha—Harry…" murmured Ron. And now his eyes were misting, and Harry was losing him and he couldn't, not Ron, oh please not Ron.

"I'll tell her you send your love," breathed Ron.

And then he was gone, and somewhere, Hermione was welcoming him.

Harry sobbed uncontrollably, shaking. His hand trembled so badly that he could barely pass it over Ron's eyes to close them for the last time. And the pain rushed over Harry again and again, and he wailed desperately and held Ron's limp body to him, just crying and crying.

Draco's gentle hands were around Harry's shoulders, and he was guiding him and helping him lay Ron gently on the bed. Harry's knees gave way.

"Draco—no, no," he sobbed, pressing his face into Draco's knees. "No, no, bring him back, I want Ron, _bring him back!_"

"Shhh…shhh…" Draco was there, holding Harry and rocking him gently. Harry nestled into Draco's embrace, needing its warmth and comfort and security as he cried himself dry. Draco's own eyes burned with tears, but he did not break. He stayed strong, he was brave and strong and he was there for Harry as Harry mourned the loss of his dearest friend. And inside, Draco mourned too, because Harry's pain was his, Harry's loss was his, Harry's tears shone in his eyes.

Finally, as the sun was setting that evening, Draco let go of Harry very, very gently.

"Time to go, love."

"OK."

**Author notes: Like is said, this is kind of short, but I certainly couldn't deal with writing any more on here. I'd kill myself. Although, by the time this is over I'll probably be doing that anyway, so never fear. Reviews please!…this was a toughie for me and le betas.**


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

**Author notes: I…it…stutters crazily OK, I swear I don't just like killing people. Really. I guess this is just how it works out. Please don't kill me. God, this is so ANGSTY. OH GOD I CAN'T DEAL. It's weird how I seem to get more worked up about my own stories than most of the people who read them. But anyway, I'll stop ranting. Enjoy and review PLEASE, this one was REALLY hard to write. Thanks!**

So Harry healed Ron's cut wrists without tears, for he had none left to shed. They sought the cemetery in which a memorial to Hermione stood. Although the marble slab bearing her name and Ron's loving epitaph rose gracefully there, there was no actual grave, for there had been no body found after her death that they could bury.

Draco and Harry bought a headstone of the same marble as Hermione's marker and had chiseled upon it the words:

_Ronald Weasley_

_Loving son, brother and husband_

_May you again find happiness with her_

Harry had written it, and it had brought tears to Draco's eyes. They buried Ron beneath it, beside Hermione's monument, and stood for a moment before the two graves with their arms tight around each other. Their eyes were dry. The time for tears was past.

When Ron's funeral was over, they went to London and rented out a grubby flat in a dirty neighborhood. They sat at the small kitchen table late into the night, not talking much but holding hands across it, mutely communicating their sorrows.

They spent a week in London, and then moved into Harry's old apartment in Sussex. He had not lived there for four years, and it had obviously been since looted and trashed by Death Eaters and would-be burglars and criminals. Having walked nearly 10 blocks to get here—in his present state, Harry wasn't prone to remember trivial matters like the location of an old and forgotten residence—they sank together on the creaking sofa, promptly leaping up when it sank onto the floor, one leg broken off. They mended it and curled up together, quiet and thoughtful and sad.

After two days in Sussex they both noticed that things were not the same. They were going off food, talking less, snuggling closer at night in bed. And when they looked at each other, they saw nothing in their eyes—the deadened, empty look that they knew Azkaban gave its prisoners.

"Harry," murmured Draco softly one night as he lay with his arms around Harry, pressed tightly against his chest.

"Mmm?"

"I…I miss them, Harry."

"Me, too. I mean…well, who do you miss?"

"My parents."

"Ron and Hermione. And Ginny and Fred and Bill and Fleur and Tonks and Percy and Ron's mum and dad. And your parents. And…and my parents. Everybody."

"Yeah."

"And Si…Sirius…" Harry's voice got very quiet, cracking slightly.

"Yeah." Draco felt his sadness and reached up to stroke his cheek.

"What do you reckon?" asked Harry, letting his lips press gently against Draco's hand.

"I reckon…this is no life."

"Yeah."

"You think…"

"Maybe."

"I'd rather…anything…anything than this."

"I hurt all over, Harry," said Draco, suddenly speaking in a literally tortured whisper.

"From when the Death Eaters…"

"Yeah."

"I hurt because you hurt."

"I…oh, Harry…but…"

"You said it. This is no life to live. Or not live. We're not living."

"I know."

"There's nothing any more, it seems. Everything…just…just dead."

"Yeah. I feel…like…like I'm hollow. A shell."

"A Dementor's Kiss?"

"I suppose."

"Yeah."

There was a very, very loud silence.

"I…I want to die, Draco."

"I want to die with you, Harry."

"I…yeah."

"…I love you."

"I love you."

And they both knew that a decision had been reached, and there would be no turning back. They held each other tighter. It was dark and quiet, and they were just waiting for the morning, waiting for the light and the fog and the time they could finally end it all.

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Six hours later, they were holding hands and standing at the edge of a cliff in a faraway place. Neither was scared of what they were going to do. Neither mourned or feared pain. They were both tired, so tired, and they couldn't any more, they just couldn't. It was time to end. Just to end, to sleep dreamlessly, peacefully, together where Ron and Hermione were waiting.

They had eternity to love each other.

And so they kissed, knowing it would not be their last, and stepped off the edge.

For a moment they flew.

And then they were swallowed by the infinity and lost forever to the world. And everybody they loved was waiting with smiles and open arms.

**Author notes: Wait, wait! There's an epilogue. Did anybody catch the _Windfallen_ reference in there? …one of my favorite angst fics (by Cinnamon, on Schnoogle). And again, I promise I'm not just a sadistic killer. I mean, some people are still alive…counts three people are still alive. Heh heh.**


	7. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

**Author notes: See, three people are still alive! Ha! I told you. Read on.**

Lupin was sitting at the kitchen table in Number 12, Grimmauld Place, reading the paper and sipping lukewarm tea. He was searching for news of Harry, who he had not seen for more than two weeks. He was worried, and not just about Harry. Headquarters was depressingly empty these days. Charlie was working extremely hard, perhaps to distract himself from how difficult the rest of his life was right now. George hadn't been the same since Fred died; it was as though he was missing his legs or a vital organ that he could not function properly without. He did trivial tasks and espionage missions, but could not handle the strain of real danger and battle. After all, that was how Fred had died. But Lupin didn't like to think about that battle. It had been devastating, cutting their numbers by nearly 10 people, of only around 30 remaining before it.

And Lupin was growing old and weak and weary of his empty life, his half-life, his life without Sirius and James and Dumbledore and Nymphadora and now, it seemed, Harry. Lupin shook his head and took a choking gulp of tea. He couldn't think about Harry as though his return was a lost cause.

But not even a letter…

Lupin shook his head again, turning a page in the paper to read the obituaries. He skimmed them, but saw neither Harry's name nor anybody near and dear to him. Trying to ignore that, while nobody from the Order was present on the page, there were painfully familiar names such as Sprout and Pomfrey, he turned the page. There was a short piece about Blaise Zabini, who ran a charity organization in Scotland that offered relief to residents of war-ravaged towns.

But nothing about Harry, or indeed anything which shocked Lupin.

George shuffled into the kitchen, eyes puffy from lack of sleep, and poured himself some hot water from the kettle. He forgot a tea bag, but sat sipping at the plain water, staring absently at the front page.

"Anything?" he asked half-heartedly. George, like Lupin, was worried and none too hopeful about what might have happened to Harry.

"No."

"Mmmm."

George pulled the paper towards him, read the obituaries, the story about Zabini and the headlines. Then he slouched away, muttering about a letter to Charlie, who was recruiting in Canada.

Lupin walked over to a shelf over the fireplace and pulled down a dusty, faded scrapbook. It was Harry's. Lupin turned its pages absently, pausing every so often to gaze sadly at Sirius or James or Lily. His eyes rested for a moment on a very old picture of Harry, Ron and Hermione standing together on the Hogwarts Quidditch field, knee-deep in snow, flushed and laughing. Lupin watched the three of them move around on the page, throwing snowballs and grinning. He wondered how long ago this had been taken. Their third year? Second, even?

As he put the photo album back on the shelf with a flurry of dust and a sigh, he wondered if, even now, all three of its inhabitants were gone from the world forever.

Lupin didn't know that he would have his answer to that question with the evening paper.

_Fin_

**Author notes: So that's all. The end. Wow, this one took like a month. Not very long, really, but it felt like it, seeing as how I was dwelling on it every waking hour of my life. So in a way I'm glad it's finally over, because now I'm not suicidal anymore. Well, not really. …Oh, man. Thanks again to my lovely lovely betas: Kat, Liz, Maddy, Courtney and sometimes Lauren (haha, they're like vowels). And if you reviewed I thank you too. Umm…bye. **


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